Weighing of the Heart
by sitabethel
Summary: Three chapter post-cannon story, contains angstshipping, TKB redemption, more angstshipping, then sets the stage for gravityshipping (then abandons the reader to fill in the fun parts on their own).
1. Our Hearts Are Too Heavy

*****AN: This is the 1st of 3 Chapters.*****

After the Ceremonial Duel Marik returned to Japan with the others. He wanted to study abroad and his sister preferred him somewhere she felt him safe, Japan was their compromise. Ryou gave Marik space, always sitting at the opposite end of the group when they hung out with their mutual friends. He wasn't bitter. He held no anger against Marik, or the Spirit, for using him as a pawn during the Battle City Tournament. However, he noticed a veiled sorrow in Marik's eyes every time he looked at Ryou. So Ryou kept his distance as a courtesy to Marik.

Over three years passed before their relationship changed. They sat in Yugi's grandfather's kitchen, and the subject veered to old times. Yugi and Joey carried most of the conversation as Marik and Ryou sat on opposite sides of Yugi's kitchen table and listened. After fifteen minuets Yugi sighed, a bittersweet smile embellishing his features. "I'm sorry, I know I talk about him too much."

"Hey." Joey landed a reassuring hand on Yugi's shoulder. "Don't worry, he was our friend, too."

Yugi nodded. "I know. It's hard, even after all these years, I miss him."

Ryou's chest felt tight. Looking down, Ryou noticed both hands clenched in tight fists in his lap. Usually, he reassured Yugi, gave him empathy, but that afternoon Ryou couldn't bear the thought of swallowing his own feelings to pretend that only Yugi knew the pain of losing a reflection of himself. He looked up, jaw aching from clenching his teeth together.

"I know how you feel," Ryou whispered, "exactly how you feel."

He stood up, knowing he was saying the wrong things, knowing his friends wouldn't understand him.. "At least you got to say goodbye."

He walked out of the kitchen and into the bright, afternoon air.

He started walking home, after three minutes he realized Marik walked a foot behind him. He slowed down, allowing Marik to catch up. Ryou stared out the corner of his eye at Marik's face. "Um . . . hi."

"Hello," he said, still walking with Ryou, a slight grin tugged at the corner of Marik's mouth.

Ryou sighed and moved his brown eyes to the concrete below their feet. "I guess I shouldn't have said that out loud to Yugi."

"Or, maybe you should have said it years ago."

"It doesn't really matter. Even if I tried to explain, Yugi wouldn't understand."

Marik cleared his throat and pressed a hand on his chest, the way he always did before gifting his audience with one of his impressions. "_Poor Bakura, he just doesn't remember how mean the Spirit of the Ring was, or all the trouble he used to cause._" Marik tossed his head back to further the dramatic affect of his speech. "_If only that spirit had been more like Atem. Then Bakura would understand better._"

Ryou stopped walking. "And you?"

Marik frowned, leaning against a light-post. "Back then, I was ready to die. The only reason I decided to live was because Rishid interrupted the duel – and the only reason he was alive to interfere was because Bakura helped me fight my other personality."

Marik shoved both his hands into his pockets. "I can't talk about this with anyone else, my sister, Yugi, I already know what they'd say. _He was trying to use you. He just wanted the Rod. Isn't it a good thing Atem was able to save you?_"

Ryou nodded his head. "They do like to forget that he won that duel because _you_ forfeited."

Marik stole a step closer to Ryou. "Want to know a secret?"

Ryou leaned forward. "What's that?"

"All those times we play games with him and the others? I can usually beat him, but I let Yugi win because that's what everyone excepts to happen."

Ryou laughed. "I do the same thing, especially at Shogi."

"_Especially_ at Shogi," Marik agreed, "you know, we should play each other. I mean, I have fun with the group, but—"

"– a game's more fun when you don't have to hold back." Ryou finished Marik's sentence.

"Exactly." Marik nodded, then paused and asked, "how about a game right now?"

Ryou started, he hadn't expected the invitation. He felt a smile stretch across his face. "Yeah, let's go. I have a board at home."

They started walking again. As they reached Ryou's apartment, Marik stopped in front of the door and asked, "I don't bother you, do I?"

"Bother me?"

"Because, you know, what happened before."

Ryou shook his head. "No."

"We've been hanging out for years now, but you never really talk to me."

Ryou frowned. "Because I make you sad."

"What?" Marik crossed his arms over his chest. His expression smoothed to an unreadable mask. "Why would you say that?"

Ryou reached forward and touched the corner of Marik's shoulder. "I remind you of _him_ and that makes you sad."

Marik looked away. "How much do you remember? From that time?"

Ryou unlocked the door and they stepped inside. The quiet apartment was small and tidy, the faint scent of incense clung to the air. Herbs grew in the window seal, candles scattered on almost every surface, pentagrams, statues of the Buddha, and glass angles decorated the walls. The only cluttered area was a desk overflowing with half finished Monster World projects.

"This place is nice," Marik said, "It feels calm in here."

"Thanks." Ryou shut the door behind them, looking at Marik. "You asked how much I remember?"

"Yes."

Ryou exhaled. "The others don't know, but I remember almost everything."

Marik coughed into his hand. "Um, everything?"

Ryou blushed. "Yes, even that one time you two were together."

"Oh shit." Marik stepped back. "Maybe I should just go?"

Ryou stared at his thin, gray-blue carpet. "If you want, but, would it make you feel better if I told you he wouldn't have done it had I said no?"

Marik thought about the statement. "When did he ever care about what you wanted to do with your own body?"

Ryou grinned. "When it didn't concern his revenge."

"That makes sense, actually."

"You'd be the only one that thought so." Ryou looked around the room for a moment, trying to find a distraction to alleviate the awkward atmosphere. His eye caught an old game board given to him by his father. "Hey, Marik?"

"Yes?"

"Instead of Shogi . . . would you rather play Senet?"

"Well." Marik rested a hand on his hip, seizing the change in subject. "I suppose, but no one _really_ knows how to play Senet."

Ryou took the board in his hands, laughing. "I do. _He_ taught me."

"No way," Marik said, sitting cross-legged on the carpet near the coffee table resting beside Ryou's sofa. "There's no way you can convince me that cantankerous bastard taught you how to play games from his _childhood_."

Ryou placed the board on the table, sitting across from Marik. "We traded. I built the diorama for his final game and he taught me how to play Senet."

Marik tilted his head. "I was led to believe that you were _forced_ into building that game set."

"That's what he told them." Ryou sighed, resting his chin in his hand. "In his own weird way, he was always trying to protect me, so he said it in a way that made me look like a victim."

"But . . . why would you help him?"

Ryou's white skin paled to the color of magnolia blossoms. "By then, I knew why he wanted revenge, and, and, I couldn't hate him for it. How could anyone hate him for that?"

Marik held Ryou's gaze with his bright, purple eyes. "What happened? I never had time to figure it out."

"Please don't make me talk about it, Marik." Ryou curled his knees into his chest, rocking slightly.

Marik shifted over to Ryou's side of the table, holding him steady.

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"Maybe one day, but not now. I – I can't bare thinking about it. Yugi can't know this because I'd lose him as a friend, but I hate the Pharaohs, all of them."

Marik closed his eyes and sighed. "I'll hate them with you, Ryou."

"Aren't you happy now?" Ryou asked.

Marik shrugged. "I was happy after I banished my other personality, but it didn't take long for me to think about my past, and then the darkness was back. All the anger was back. Every fucked up detail in my life didn't just go away because of a stupid card game. I'm still trying to deal with it."

Ryou jerked his head up to stare Marik in the face. "Is _he_ back?"

"Not like before. Not something that could take over because I don't have the Rod anymore, but I feel all the anger in my head."

"What do you do? Are you afraid?"

Marik stared at Ryou. "Promise not to laugh?"

"Of course I won't laugh."

Marik smiled, as if he wanted to laugh. "I run, mostly at the park. I'm thinking about signing up for a race. I'm trying not to repress things anymore. It works, sometimes, and when it doesn't." He held out his hair in two different directions. "No one notices because my hair doesn't change."

He dropped the strips of blond hair and shrugged. "I fake normal, but I'm still as fucked up as ever."

Ryou leaned a little closer into Marik's arms. "I know that feeling really well."

Marik pulled Ryou into a loose hug.

Ryou felt them drawing together, felt his lips parting as they neared Marik's mouth, but he didn't want to be a replacement for the Spirit. His body ached to recreate the experience Marik and the Spirit stole on Kaiba's blimp before the finals, but he couldn't handle the thought of Marik whispering his name, but not whispering it to him.

Ryou jumped to his feet. "Where are my manners? I should make tea."

"Then you'll teach me how to play, right?" Marik sighed.

"Yes," Ryou answered, going to the kitchen and filling his silver kettle with water.

They formed their own friendship, still close to Yugi and the others, but censored when around them. Alone, they spoke without restraint. They planned the future together, college and careers and trips to other countries. They remembered the past together, knives and dark tombs and a thief's village on fire.


	2. And Yours Is Not Enough To Weigh

*****AN: This is my favorite chapter, so much so that I probably should have made this the entire story and cut out everything else*****

The Millennium Items sank into the dark, and with them, the Thief's soul trapped inside the Ring. He waited, expecting to fade into the void, but before the darkness erased him from existence a clawed, black-furred hand reached out to him. The Thief seized it, feeling his soul pulled out of the Ring, out of the pitch, and into a between place of warm sandstone, acrid dust, and smokeless torchlight.

The Thief stared at the Jackal before him and whispered, "_Anpu_."

The Jackal watched him, nostrils flaring as he inhaled the Thief's scent. "Sheut, where are the other pieces of your soul?"

With laughter as sour and bitter as the dregs left in a jar of stale beer, the Thief replied, "lost, destroyed, sacrificed, consumed by a demon far worse than Ammit."

The Jackal tugged at the Thief's hand. "This way."

The Thief obeyed, he tried pulling his hand out of the Jackal's grip, but the god held tight. He guided the Thief through Duat and to the Tribunal where the gods waited to hear the Negative Confessions of the dead.

The Thief laughed and watched the Ibis write his reaction on a scroll. He succeeded in separating himself from the Jackal, tucking his arms across his chest and allowing the scarlet robe to hang loose around his arms.

"We know I'm not meant for Aaru. Why even bring me here?" He tried remembering the Negative Confessions that his mother taught him before she burned and melted into gold before his eyes. The only two he could remember that he _hadn't_ done were about stealing from babies and dishonoring the wives of other men, and although two were a start, he could quickly recall over two dozen transgressions that he had committed, repeatedly.

"All must be judged according to the laws. Everyone must be weighed against the truth, even you, Sheut."

The Thief studied the woman speaking to him. She was Order and she was Justice. He clenched his hands into fists, teeth grinding together as something inside him tore open and poured out.

"Where were you? Where were you that night? Even now their souls are bound to the earth – _where is their justice!_"

He turned away from the goddess and marched towards a large creature crouched near the scales, her back half wide and rough-skinned, her front half lean and fur-covered, and her crocodile teeth waiting to tear and rent into the unworthy.

"There's no need for ceremony. We know what I've done. Why prolong it? I'll jump into Ammit's mouth willingly."

The goddess caught the Thief in her arms to stop him. She rested her hand on his cheek like a mother soothing a child just woken from night terrors. His eyes caught hers and he crashed to the ground on his knees. He wailed, a sharp keen that carried the sorrow of one-hundred voices, his and ninety-nine others. She held him as the screams flooded unbidden from his mouth and he choked as the wailing reached a crescendo and then shriveled to dry, tearless sobs.

"I have committed sins. I have committed robbery with violence. I have slain men," the Thief whispered, eyes locking on the the proper god as he confessed each crime.

They sat around him, silent and watching.

"I have stolen grain, and offerings, and food. I have stolen from the gods and the dead. I have lied. I have cursed. I have made others weep."

He continued down the list, forty-two confessions total. As he spoke the last confession, however, the Thief stood, his voice growing louder as he stared at all the gods and repeated three times, "but I have not been angry without just cause. I have _not_ been angry without just cause. I have _never_ been angry without just cause."

He felt the Jackal draw near and turned to stare straight into the god's black eyes. The Jackal reached his clawed hand and plunged it into the Thief's chest. The Thief gasped and sunk against the Jackal, unable to move or speak. The Jackal withdrew his hand, fingers balled into a fist. He opened his paw, holding a thin, red slice, so small and delicate that the Thief thought he stared at a single rose petal.

"This," the Jackal explained, "is all that remains of your Ib. It is not enough to weigh."

The Thief's expression didn't flinch as he spoke, "I am not afraid of judgment."

"No." The goddess shook her head. "Everyone must be weighed against the truth. I will send you back, to live the remainder of the life-span interrupted by the Dark Games. Next time you return we will weigh your Ib and see if it has grown."

The Thief snorted. "I'm surprised I had even a sliver of my heart left and I doubt sending me back will make it grow." A wide, confident smirk brightened the Thief's face. "But if you restore my life I promise this – I won't die again until I find a way to bring back ninety-nine other hearts with me. Weigh those when I return."

*****Quick note about the Negative Confessions, you're supposed to say "I did not do this," "I did not do that," and look at the appropriate god while saying you didn't do each crime. Then Anubis weighs your heart and if it's balanced with the feather, you go on the Aaru. However, when does TKB ever follow rules? He always goes by his own morality while tossing social code aside, and I don't see this changing, so if he did the sin, he confesses it, if he didn't do it, he tells the gods he didn't do it (ex: being angry without just cause)*****


	3. But Three, Plus Ninety-Nine

*****But Three, Plus Ninety-Nine, Can Balance Against a Single Ostrich Feather*****

Their friendship too valuable to jeopardize, neither one of them ever took the last step between friends and lovers. Another year passed burdened with opportunities, but one or the other always pushed away. Until, one day, Marik's resolve broke as he pressed Ryou against the wall in their shared apartment. "I know you're not _him._" Marik squeezed his hand. "So quit dodging me and give me a chance to prove it."

"I've been waiting a long time to hear that." Ryou smiled, he tried to lower his mouth into a serious expression but failed. "Okay, ask me out."

"You like ice-cream, right?"

"Marik, it's winter."

"First thing that came to mind."

"Well, I do love mochi."

Marik let go of Ryou's hand. "Get your coat."

They went out and ate sweets just the same as they'd done for the past year, talking and laughing about anything that came to mind. Even when Marik slipped his hand under the table and entangled his fingers with Ryou's, it was nothing they hadn't done before. The date was formality, all that was left was to consummate their relationship.

Marik walked Ryou back to their apartment, Ryou leaned against the door, staring at Marik. "Is this where I invite you inside for coffee?"

"I don't drink coffee, can I come inside anyway?" Marik asked.

Ryou nodded, Marik brushed his fingers against Ryou's cheek. Ryou closed his eyes, leaning into Marik's touch and sighing. Marik drew closer, his lips plucking rapid, successive kisses from Ryou's mouth. Ryou wrapped his left arm around Marik's waist and Marik held Ryou's face with both hands. Their kisses lengthened, mouths slowing down even as their breath quickened.

Ryou fumbled for the door with his right hand and opened it, he stumbled backwards into the apartment never breaking their kisses. Marik kicked the door shut behind them, a surprised groan escaping from his mouth as Ryou slipped his hand inside Marik's pants and squeezed his erection. Marik closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of Ryou's fingers against his bare skin.

"Right now," Ryou whispered, "Marik, take me to bed."

Marik opened his eyes, a figure on the couch caught his gaze and Marik's heart skipped. He jerked his mouth away mid-kiss and shouted, "Bakura?"

A strange look covered Ryou's face, realizing that he wasn't being spoken to. Ryou turned over his shoulder. "Oh shit." He wrenched his hand out of Marik's pants when he saw the Thief sitting on the couch.

A grin consumed his tanned face. "Don't mind me, just carry on like I'm not even here. That was very entertaining to watch."

"How are you alive?" Marik asked.

Bakura, the Thief, shrugged. "Not even the gods wanted to deal with me."

Ryou swallowed, his breath shallow. "What, what are you going to do now that you're back?"

Bakura sat on the couch with his feet on the cushions, his knees tucked into his chest, and his arms resting on his knees. He shrugged. "My goal hasn't changed at all. I want justice for my village."

"I'm still not going to let you hurt my friends." Ryou walked towards the kitchen before Bakura could retort.

Marik heard him fill a kettle with water. He turned his attention back to Bakura, walking up to the Thief sitting on the couch.

Bakura looked up at Marik with a bemused smile. "Glad to see you were taking good care of my host while I was away."

Marik leaned closed to the Thief's face. "You're not using him this time."

"Haven't you noticed? I have my own body so I have no need for a host." Bakura snorted, he raised his voice so it reached the kitchen. "And the Pharaoh's spirit is gone so I have no business with his vessel."

Bakura stood, brushing past Marik and walking towards the door. "I don't know why the gods even put me here. Idiots can't do anything right. I should be in Egypt not Japan."

Marik grabbed Bakura's arm, preventing him from leaving.

Bakura turned half way and stared at Marik. "What?"

Ryou's voice spoke from the kitchen entryway. "You can't go outside dressed like that. It looks ridiculous and it's too cold outside."

The Thief stared down at his red robe and the coarse, flax cloth wrapped around his waist. "It's what I have."

Ryou closed his eyes and sighed. "I have clothes that will fit you."

Bakura glared at his former host. "Why?"

Marik let go of Bakura's arm. "You're so stupid."

Bakura's glare shifted from Ryou to Marik.

Ryou spoke before the conversation could escalate. "I don't hate you."

The statement made Bakura's eyes jerk back to Ryou.

"I don't hate you," Ryou said a second time. The teapot whistled and Ryou disappeared into the kitchen.

Bakura walked to the kitchen and Marik walked beside him. They stood for a moment and watched Ryou fix three cups of green tea. He turned, a cup in each hand, and offered one to each of them.

Bakura frowned at the cup, crossing his arms over his chest.

Marik laughed and took both cups from Ryou's hands. "Thanks," he whispered to Ryou, turning around and shoving one of the cups in Bakura's direction until he sighed and reached for the drink.

Ryou took the third cup in his hands, sipping the steaming liquid before it had a chance to cool.

"You're staying the night," Ryou said, a statement not a question. He knew better than to ask.

Bakura squeezed his cup, skin stretched tight across his knuckles. "No, I'm not."

"Yes," Ryou answered, "you're going to try and save them, aren't you? I want to help you."

"I don't need your help."

"Do you plan on walking to Egypt without money or identification?" Marik snorted. "I can get you into the country."

"Why?" Bakura growled.

"I owe you one."

"You don't owe me a damn thing."

"I say I do." Marik stole a swallow of tea.

Ryou smiled at Marik but Bakura frowned, incapable of accepting their help.

Marik smirked, his old smirk, an expression that Bakura would remember but Yugi and his friends would not. "You can sleep in my room. I won't need it tonight."

Ryou blushed, but Bakura chuckled. "What makes you so confident, Marik? Perhaps my host would rather I stay with him for old time's sake."

"Actually." Ryou's cheeks still flushed pale coral as his wide, brown eyes peered at them from over his teacup. His expression, so deceivingly innocent, sent an excited chill across Marik's body as he spoke his next sentence. "My bed is large enough for all three of us."

*****AN: Yes, I know I'm a jerk for ending the story here, but I'm not apologizing.*****


End file.
